


81°

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Making Out, Nighttime, Pre-Slash, Self-Esteem Issues, Slash, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: Sadness is not a good look on Kevin Price.





	81°

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaxen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaxen/gifts).



> This fic is just what it says on the tin. This was a commission for [kaxen](kaxen.tumblr.com), a friend of mine and a great lover/creator of BoM content. I hope the product of your requests is a good fit for what you wanted; and thank you, kaxen. You're been great to everyone in the fandom, and you've been great to me. 
> 
> Many thanks to [elderxprice](elderxprice.tumblr.com) and [notlikelionking](notlikelionking.tumblr.com) for pre-reading.
> 
> Enjoy!

The furthest door on the right in the hallway of the Uganda District Nine mission house clicks shut, and Arnold promptly falls face-first onto his bed. It’s been a hard day. A long one. Being a prophet is tougher than Arnold ever thought it would be. He just hopes Kevin won’t try and put a positive spin on things.

“Well,” Kevin says, over his companion’s pillow groans, “I’m gonna say today was a productive day, and we got a lot accomplished in the name of Heavenly Father.”

“Mmugh,” Arnold replies.

“Come on, Elder Cunningham, you have to stay positive! Remember what you always say: ‘Tomorrow is a latter day!’”

Arnold rolls over and frowns. “I am positive,” he says. “And you hate that.”

“Hate what?” Kevin asks, neatly folding his tie and draping it over the handle of his newly-retrieved suitcase. Now _that_ was an adventure Arnold would pay to never relive. “I am an elder of the Church of Je- of, of Arnold, and positivity is my creed.”

“No, that- the thing I always say, about latter days. You hate that. ‘Cause latter day doesn’t mean tomorrow or whatever.”

“I… used to find it… aggravating,” Kevin says. His back is turned to Arnold, so Arnold can’t see a thing. His frown grows as he sits himself up on the straw-pallet bed. Usually Kevin listens. Usually, Kevin doesn’t lie. “But that was before I saw the truth of your Word, and now I know that truth is in a lot more than the, um, traditional scriptures.”

Arnold laughs. “You sound like you’re in a creepy cult,” he says. “‘I see the truth, and it has opened my eyes. Pay fifty dollars at the door, and you can join us! WooOOooh!’”

Kevin doesn’t laugh, though. Not even at Arnold’s waving hands or weird face. Probably because he still isn’t turning around.

“Hey,” Arnold says. “What’s the matter? Somethin’ wrong?”

“No!” Kevin chirps, whipping around, shirt half-buttoned and belt hanging free. “No, I’m doing just fine. _You’re_ the one who needs a little jolt of positivity. How about we have some companionship evaluation time and go over all the good things we got done today, huh? Just to lift your spirits?”

“Uh, I’m fine, Kev-”

“Great! So, um, first things first: we got up before eight. Yay, us. Two, we went for a run-”

“ _You_ went for a run,” Arnold interrupts. “I walked around the house three times before I got bored and went in to eat a banana.”

“And I didn’t go for a run. I ran two laps to the well before drowning my troubles with a hot cup o’ joe. Right. But! Bananas, healthy eating, that’s another good thing. See, Arnold? You’re doing a great job as prophet.”

“Kevin-”

“Three!” Kevin announces, holding up three fingers. Very nice fingers. Arnold’s mission companion has really nice hands. Which he showed off today, when- “We sketched out the approximate blueprint for the outdoor temple-slash-village gathering place, while Elder Davis made breakfast, and tried to throw out my stash of coffee. Of course, we’ll need someone with actual architect training to approve the plans, but that’s a big step forward. So was setting out a sign-up sheet for next week’s baptisms.”

“He tried to throw out your coffee? Also, you know, like… a lotta the people who wanna get baptized can’t write their names,” Arnold says.

Kevin’s plastic smile falters. That’s what’s so weird about it - that smile is as fake as a Barbie doll’s. He’s been wearing that too often, lately.

“Well, Nabulungi can help them.”

“She doesn’t work for us.”

“But N- _Sister Hatimbi_ has been baptized. She has taken an oath to serve the church, and Heavenly Father, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helping some illiterate villagers sign up for you to baptize them.”

Kevin has turned around again. Arnold can’t read his face, can’t read his tone, can’t figure out why he’s talking so freaking loud, as if someone is listening in.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“...um, you, Arnold.”

“Who’re you pretending for, then?”

“What?”

“‘Cause you sound like you’re back at the Missionary Training Center, y’know, with all the ‘Gee golly, I can’t wait to go out and serve the Lord someday!’”

“Arnold-!”

“Hey, no, I’m your best friend, but… you’re not the best actor, buddy.”

Then Kevin’s face… it just falls. Hard. “I’m not?”

“Well, uh…” Arnold struggles for a second. “No, not really. But that’s okay! You’ve got plenty of other good stuff you do, and- just think for a second how bad the Book of Arnold would be if you didn’t help me with it, huh? Or, or talk with all the old ladies who think I’m crazy? Or- oh! What- what- what about that time with _Mafala_ , where he totally didn’t think I was being serious about anything? Last week, you know, with the- the Easter Bunny thing, where he didn’t think that anybody thought eggs came from rabbits even though I _told_ him they don’t, and then you told him and he laughed but then he actually believed you?”

Kevin huffs. “That was hardly a salvation-or-hell conversation, Arnold,” he mutters.

“Well, why does it bother you you’re not a good actor anyway?” Arnold counters. “Nala-latte is a good actor. -ress. Actress. Ghali’s a good actor. Elder McKinley could probably _actually_ be on Broadway if he wanted and didn’t think it was too gay to wear makeup, and wasn’t, like, our district leader. We’ve got lots of good actors around here. That doesn’t have to be somethin’ _you’re_ good at.”

“I don’t want to be good at it,” Kevin says. Lies, really. He’s a bad liar, too, because Arnold knows all the signs, and Kevin just keeps on doing it. “I just… Maybe I don’t want everyone knowing exactly what I think all the time.”

Arnold laughs.

It looks like now is one of those times it’s not the best idea to laugh; Kevin looks over at him with something like a glare mixed with an I’m-about-to-cry face. Did Arnold do that?

“Oh, geez,” Arnold says. “Hey, buddy, I didn’t, uh, I’m not laughing at you.” He rests a comforting hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “You’re just… acting kinda weird, and I’m, uh… Just wanted to know if something was, y’know… up.”

“Nothing’s up, Arnold. Except the snakes that are probably living in our ceiling.”

“Thanks for the reminder, but are you _sure_?” Arnold squeezes; Kevin looks away. “Really really sure?”

There’s no reply.

“You can tell me anything,” Arnold offers. “I’m… I’m here for you.”

It’s another few seconds before Kevin gives in.

“The last time you said that, I thought I was going to Orlando.”

“Uh…” Yeah, Arnold remembers that. He didn’t think Kevin did.

Kevin chuckles. “You’re not quiet, pal,” he murmurs. “I heard what you said, after… when I was heading to the bus station. I never really apologized for that, did I?”

“Aw, that’s okay,” Arnold says, laughing a little awkwardly. “I mean, you’re not the apologizing type.”

“So I’m not humble _or_ a good actor. You’re laying on the compliments thick tonight.”

“But it’s true! I thought it was good when I tell the truth!”

“Oh, it is!” Kevin replies. “Yeah, definitely, keep doing that, unless you’re talking to your people, or, ward, or whatever we’re calling it, but… I don’t know, pal, it’s… I have to say, I liked when you thought I was awesome. I liked it a lot.”

Then Kevin sighs. Head hanging, eyes downcast; sadness is not a great look on Kevin Price. Come to think of it, it’s been his usual look, lately. Arnold just has to turn around to see melancholy dripping off him like rain from the Ugandan sky. His eyes, haunted. His brightness, dimmed. And it hurts the same, every time. This is Arnold’s best friend. Other than Nabulungi, his _only_ friend. And, like Nabulungi… somebody Arnold cares a lot about.

The sadness never lasts. It stabs Arnold through the gut, but then it always turns to something _else._  Something… angry.

“Damn it, Arnold!” Kevin cries, jumping up. “I am trying so hard to- to-”

“To what?”

“Oh, you know what,” he snaps. “Absolutely nothing on this mission is going the way I wanted, and now…”

 _I thought you liked it this way_ , Arnold thinks. With learning how to talk, though, Uganda has taught Arnold when to listen. He keeps his mouth shut, fiddling with his tie, as Kevin starts to pace.

“Now, everything is just- it’s so _hard_. I thought the training was supposed to be the hard part! That’s what everyone _said_ , they said the mission would be great! So fulfilling, amazing, incredible, all those stupid words everybody throws around. They can’t even read, Arnold! That’s what we should be teaching the people here, not that- that the freaking Nephites and the Lamanites were sworn enemies and Heavenly Father made the ones he didn’t like _black_! What good does that do?”

“We skipped that part,” Arnold says.

“They can’t write their own names,” Kevin repeats. His shoulders slump; the fierce light in his eyes leaves as fast as it came. “We can’t even help with that, because we don’t know the language. We can’t help them write their names.”

In the silence that follows, Arnold hears Elder Neeley and Elder Davis playing rock-paper-scissors for shower dibs tomorrow morning. He scoots a little closer to Kevin; Kevin doesn’t scoot away. That’s, at least, encouraging.

“I still think you’re awesome, buddy.”

“For what?” Kevin retorts. “Because you’re my best friend and you have to think that?”

“Nah, it’s the other way around. You’re _awesome,_  and that’s _why_ you’re my best friend. You didn’t stop being awesome after… y’know. Stuff happened.”

“Stuff.”

Arnold feels something building, like the moment before your Mentos-and-Coke bomb explodes into sugary glory. Maybe it’s something to do with the new look in Kevin’s eyes. How they’re getting red, and shiny.

“I liked when you still thought I was worth encouraging,” Kevin whispers. “You’re… you’re the prophet. You’re great. You’re positive and intense and… and you don’t need me. You don’t need encouragement. Don’t you get it? Even when we got stuck together I _needed_ you, Arnold. I couldn’t do it alone, I never could.”

Arnold reels. “W-well, uh, nobody can, really-”

“Heavenly Father wasn’t enough for me,” Kevin says. His eyes widen, then slip shut. “God. God wasn’t… enough.” He sniffs. “What kind of sorry Mormon…”

“Latter-day saint,” Arnold replies, gently. “We’re latter-day saints, and… that’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“It is. Look, buddy…”

It’s just the two of them, sitting side by side on Arnold’s bed. The nighttime noises in the house have died out; the outdoor ones are soft, peaceful. Arnold rests a hand on Kevin’s shoulder again, but this time it slips down his arm to his hand, braced against the mattress. Kevin looks down like he’s forgotten what a hand is.

“God is kinda… not what we thought He was. I think. Does that make sense? I mean, we know He’s not nice. And, if you don’t think He’s actually _there,_  well… maybe He’s not. But I am. Here. I’m here, Kevin. And I… I r-really like you. I’m gonna keep liking you, ‘cause you’re my best friend _and_ ‘cause you’re awesome _and_ ‘cause you’re worth- you’re worth it. You’re… Kevin Price. And that’s, uh…”

Kevin’s gaze traces up Arnold’s body, from their joined hands on the bed to Arnold’s reddening face. “Arnold?” he asks. His eyes are still shiny; his voice cracks. There’s no anger in his face, though. Nothing but confusion and… longing. Arnold’s not used to that look on him, but he knows the feeling.

Arnold’s heart picks up speed.

“Y-yeah?”

Kevin’s eyes are getting bigger. And bigger. And bigger. Oh. Wait.

Arnold has leaned in enough that Kevin’s lips parting ghosts warm air over his own mouth. Taller Kevin may be, by a whole lot, but sitting down like this and they’re almost even. Kevin only has to look down a fraction of an inch, and Arnold is enjoying the view.

Kevin swallows. Arnold can hear it, the wet sound in Kevin’s throat. They’re both just watching, waiting - seeing if someone is going to make the first move. Arnold hardly wants to breathe. Are they really going to do this?

Arnold’s not thinking about ways he could mess this up, but only because he’s not thinking, period. He’s frozen, a tightrope pulled taut and straight. Like _heck_ is Arnold going to ruin his best friendship because Kevin Price has nice fingers and a nicer mouth.

But then- those big blue eyes flick over Arnold’s face. He tracks every movement, watches Kevin catalog his features, and come to rest on Arnold’s lips. He smiles; just a tiny quirk up on one side. Nervous, small, and scared.

Arnold closes the gap.

It’s constantly warm here, with the Ugandan humidity so much more than what they had back in Provo. It’s warm and wet, and the temperature stays the same through the day, into the night. The kind of heat that sticks to you, making shade bad and sunshine worse.

The heat Arnold feels right now, though, spikes, fiery hot under the skin. It radiates instead of hovering, burns instead of boils, and feels… good. _Oh,_ so _good_ . It’s all from Kevin’s lips, pressed against Arnold’s. Closed-mouth, unmoving, but _Kevin_ ’s lips, _Kevin’s_ warmth, _Kevin’s_ hand grazing Arnold’s knee and coming to rest on his thigh.

Arnold shivers, breaking the kiss.

“Kiss me again?” Kevin breathes. His eyes flutter closed the way they do when he talks about his favorite place (Orlando), his favorite things (box Mac and Cheese, his little sister, the personal copy of the Book of Mormon under his pillow). Were his eyes open before? “Arnold?”

“Yeah,” Arnold replies; he sounds worse off than Kevin, breath-wise. “S-sure.” He whines when their lips meet.

But that’s all that happens. Kevin doesn’t move. _Has he kissed before?_

“No,” Kevin says. He’s blushing; he’s leaning back. So Arnold said that out loud; great.

Kevin’s beautiful, stubbly, sharply-lined face snaps back into focus, and now he looks kind of mad. “I haven’t kissed anyone before. So, sorry if I’m not doing it right.”

He’s not sorry. He’s ashamed.

Arnold shakes off whatever paralyzing spell this is and grabs his hands. Kevin is his best friend, kiss or no kiss. Kissing (plus _more_ ) feelings, or not. “Hey, no, it’s great, you’re doin’ it just right. It’s great, Kevin, it’s-”

“No, it’s not. Don’t lie to me. It’s boring. It’s not good enough.”

So Arnold tries that thing he’s always wanted to try - shutting someone up with a kiss. Because Kevin’s saying stupid things. He does that, sometimes, and Arnold is tired of laughing at him, seeing how his face falls, watching his words stumble and fall flat. Stopping him this way is nicer. This way startles Kevin and leaves a surprised space between his lips. It’s enough for Arnold to tilt his head, slot them in together, slip in his tongue, and try not to pass out at the responding sound Kevin makes.

“See? Not boring,” Arnold murmurs against Kevin’s mouth.

Kevin chuckles. “I think that’s the first time you’ve whispered in your life.”

Arnold could bite back, could launch into the banter they’ve worked hard to get to. He could raise his voice and be funny. He could let Kevin laugh. Arnold could cheer him up _that_ way. But Kevin’s hand squeezes his thigh, and Kevin tilts his head some, too, and then Kevin’s tongue sweeps along Arnold’s bottom lip.

Arnold has always been a talker. Even though this is soft and quiet and sweet, and most of Arnold doesn’t want to break it, another part prevails. It’s that really loud part that makes him break their fragile little connection, press his forehead against his best friend’s, and say “You’re totally worth it, y’know?”

“I didn’t used to be. I didn’t deserve-”

“Nah,” Arnold says. He curves a hand into Kevin’s hair, as beautiful and soft and silky as he always imagined. “You always did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comments!


End file.
